Dark Light
by tenzo
Summary: A necromancer,Astaroth journeys to destroy the Three Evils.Will he bring salvation or will he fail? R&R (CHAPTER 4 UP!)
1. The Death Of A Demon

DISCLAIMER-

Diablo 2 and other related stuff don't belong to me; otherwise the necromancer

would be able to control three golems at the same time!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Dark Light**

Chapter 1- _The Death Of A Demon (And Birth Of A Hero)_

Astaroth quickly drank an antidote to quell the poison that was beginning to spread through his body. Given time it would slowly eat his innards. A gruesome prospect yes, but he wasn't gonna let that happen. Knowing that the antidote would do its work efficiently (or else he would be pretty pissed off at Akara), he surveyed the scene in front of him.

Three of his skeletons warriors were hacking away at the demoness known as Andariel with blunt-looking swords. One of them had a shield but it didn't do him any good as the pale-skinned giantess ripped its torso apart from the rest of its body even as it valiantly swung away, just a slave controlled by its master.

Two balls of frost quickly surged to Andariel and hit her squarely on the back. Astaroth had done good by conjuring his skeleton mages behind the demoness' back. Meanwhile, his clay golem picked itself up again from the wall where Andariel had thrown it. Grunting a little, it charged towards its target.

Astaroth smiled to himself, this demoness was not the "dangerous beast" and "spawn from Hell" he had so often heard about during his journey to the Rogue's Camp. It had been only a minute since he had entered the her lair and engaged her; now she was already being overwhelmed by his forces. It was good that he hadn't hired a Rogue to help-they only added to the expenditure of his hard-earned gold. Besides, they all either feared or disliked him and Kashya had only offered their services because of Akara who was less discriminating.

Astaroth couldn't blame them. Many a time had people looked upon his countenance and cursed him under their breaths or just shut their doors. His pale face was a common feature of all Necromancers and it was one all of them were recognized and shunned by. On the other hand, his hair wasn't white. It was jet-black but not too long though, and usually combed backwards. If he wanted to look more intimidating, he just jerked his head and let the hair lie naturally. Around his neck he wore a silver necklace, hanging on it, a golden pendant, usually shoved out of view under his chain-mail armor. His hands also encased in chain-mail, adorned a magical ring on each hand, while he wore plain leather boots for his purposes.

Snapping out of his reverie, Astaroth looked at the battle once again. The tide had turned against him now. Only one skeleton remained. The other two had been broken to bits while he wasn't looking. However, both skeleton mages were fine and the clay golem still hammered away.

Suddenly, Andariel screeched and let out a green gas from her mouth. Just like that, both skeleton and golem crumbled into dirt. Taking the chance to strike while the demoness was heading towards his remaining skeletons, he held onto his hand axe and started chopping away Andariel's thick backside. Roaring loudly in surprise and pain as Astaroth ducked and avoided the blow that would have injured him fatally, Andariel turned and focused on the warrior.

Through the corner of her green-hazed eyes the demoness saw the remaining skeletons still firing ice bolts at her. They wouldn't hurt her much though. And besides, they would fall apart once their master was slaughtered. This one who had begun to cause her some pain, she would enjoy killing.

Realizing that he was now the target, Astaroth played defensive. He muttered a few words and a clay golem and two skeletons appeared by his side. He muttered some more and the area around Andariel was suddenly bathed in light. She growled in surprise and swung widely with her sharp claws. Then the light was gone, but now Andariel had been cursed. Her strength had been decreased by a little. Once again, Astaroth jumped into the fray and began attacking the demoness.

With all the beings attacking her from all sides, Andariel could not concentrate. Her weak efforts at grabbing the human were futile thanks to his large shield. Suddenly, the human came into her sight, but not alone. He was brandishing a large axe.

With a mighty swing of the sharp axe, Astaroth lopped off Andariel's head. Her body quivered a little and finally fell down as her eyes glared at him from their place on the floor. Green liquid was oozing out her not so thick neck. Taking it as poison, Astaroth collected some amount for further research and possible use. Then he examined the axe he had found on the floor. It was a wicked axe and he felt that it had some magical properties. He would only be sure once he went into town and asked the wise mage Deckard Cain for identification. He stooped and picked up his hand axe and dropped it into the bag he carried. It was a good weapon with some magical properties, though pretty limited he had to admit. He could sell it for a good price. Picking up other booty and quickly killing off some remaining Dark Ones, he unsummoned his golem and skeletons lest they should scare the Rogues and used a town portal to get back to the Rogue's camp.


	2. Astaroth's Arrival

DISCLAIMER-

Diablo 2 and other related stuff don't belong to me; otherwise the necromancer would be able to control three golems at the same time!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Dark Light**

Chapter 2- _Astaroth's Arrival_

Astaroth's world turned blue as he stepped into the portal he had just opened up. It led to the Rogue's camp. There he would inform Kashya and Akara of his success. The two "Sisters of the Sightless Eye" would be happy to hear the news. Now they would be able to move back into their monastery and the camp would be abandoned. It would not be easy because now many corpses now littered the floors and blood adorned the walls of the once pure and clean monastery. There was already a shortage of Rogues; other than the ones who stood guard at the camp, most had been killed by monsters and the rest converted by Andariel to fight for the forces of evil.

The blue color faded as quickly as it had appeared and Astaroth found himself in front of the make-shift "gate" to the camp. Grunting a little, he tightened his hold on the bag of booty he held in his left hand and muttered a few words. Behind him, the bright bluish portal shimmered and closed on itself. He had to be careful as even demons could pass through the ethereal doors. And he wouldn't want them following him, now would he? Nope. He headed for the tent closest to him.

As he passed the gate, the Rogue guard looked at him suspiciously, possibly wandering whose side he was on. Nevertheless, Akara trusted him and that was enough. She resumed scanning the wilderness for any beasts that might lurk too close to the camp, her bow held tightly and an arrow already drawn.

As Akara saw the necromancer appear, she was hesitant. Had he accomplished the impossible? Was he back so that she could heal him and then he could explore the Catacombs some more? Had he killed Andariel? Her minds buzzing with anxiety, she breathed slowly to calm herself. The necromancer approached and heavily sat down.

"Well?" the elder sorceress inquired.

"Yes, I have killed Andariel," Astaroth offered.

Suddenly elated, Akara was speechless. This man, this necromancer had done what others could not do. She all too clearly remembered the barbarian youth who had come a month before the necromancer. He was bigger than him and looked more formidable. But strength was not everything, as his corpse (which Astaroth had discovered in the Dark Tower and brought for proper burial) clearly showed.

She had misjudged the necromancer. Astaroth, as he called himself, was a strong warrior. Yes, he didn't have brute strength but he did have experience and intelligence. He wasn't as young as the barbarian, being 25 years old, yet he was no old fool either. He was also comparatively quite skilled with his magical hand axe, although he wielded a strange-looking large axe now. His armor had been damaged in a few places but Charsi could fix that in a second with her Horadric Malus which Astaroth had managed to return. It seemed that he had done everything he could do just for them. He rid the wilderness around the camp of monsters. He had killed Blood Raven and stopped the abominations taking place in the graveyard. Then he had saved the Horadric mage, Deckard Cain. Without even stopping, he then set to find the Dark Tower where the evil Countess, who was more demon-like than human during her life had been slain. And now he had killed Andariel and most of the monsters in the Monastery. The remaining ones would slowly die by themselves because of starvation and the lack of companions. Other would be killed by the remaining Rogues. Everything had happened so fast. It had only been two weeks since Astaroth had stopped by.

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It had been a dark and stormy night. The rain had relentlessly been beating on Akara's tent when she heard a commotion outside. Because she was near the gate, she presumed that another warrior had arrived to help the Rogues and the archers were talking to him for news from the lands he had traveled through.

She was both right wrong.

It was dark but not dark enough for her to see a man being surrounded by a circle of Rogues. Each had their bows strung with an arrow ready to be shot at the stranger. She could barely make out Kashya.

"Get out outlander! We already have enough troubles without you barging in," Kashya shouted to male figure. Akara could make out a hand axe and shield clutched in his hands.

"What are you doing, Kashya?" asked the befuddled Akara, confused why Kashya was try to send away a potential ally.

The sky darkened and suddenly, lightning flashed throughout the sky. All of the people in the camp woke up by Kashya's shouting including Akara saw the man's face. His pale face seemed to even grow paler in the "light". His untamed hair whirled behind his head as the wind began to pick up speed. Akara could all too clearly see the skulls on the shoulders of each arm and the other unmistakable signs that showed that their visitor _was_ a warrior yes, but a Necromancer.

For a moment, Akara was surprised because she didn't think that no necromancer would try to help others. Then shaking off the instinctive thoughts from a lifetime of indoctrination against necromancers, she thought about his aim. He had not any creatures with him so he did not want to attack. Plus, he quietly turned around and was moving meaning that he did not want to mean them any harm. He probably wanted some shelter against rain and the dangerous beasts that lurked in the vicinity. Akara could see that he was bleeding a little and his armor could use some repairing. He also looked very tired and most likely would die if kicked out of the Rogues' camp. It would be better if they let him stay with them. He was a human too after all.

"No! Stop, necromancer," Akara shouted loudly.

Suddenly all eyes turned on her. Feeling hot under their gaze, she ordered," You can stay here-"

"WHAT?!" Kashya interrupted, "He's a necromancer! When we're sleeping, he'll slit our throats and loot us!"

"I am aware of the fact that he is a necromancer, Kashya," Akara replied gently but firmly.

"But-" Kashya persisted.

"That will be enough, Kashya," the elder woman said. Kashya huffed and went back into her tent near the centre of the camp. The rest of the Rogue's were confused and went back to their guard posts when told to by Akara.

"All of you, go back to sleep," she said. The remaining loiterers went off back to bed, some of them giving dirty looks to the necromancer standing in the drenching rain.

"Come, you have brought your tent? Ah yes, then you can pitch it over there. If anybody tries to disturb you, please let me know," the polite woman told the warrior.

Thanking her he was about to set out in the said direction when she asked him his name.

"My name is Astaroth," he replied starting to walk.

Akara slowly sighed to herself as she looked at his receding figure. Had she made a mistake in bringing him here or was this written in her fate. Only time would tell. She shivered and walked back to her warm tent.

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Two weeks had already passed, and Astaroth had killed Andariel. By now his presence in the camp was expected. _ Some_ Rogues and Kashya were still cautious but it was not possible to ignore all that he had done for them. The other travelers who had stopped by the camp had become more friendly towards the necromancer. Charsi, always friendly and polite was already a good "friend" of his, meaning that she talked to him and he answered back properly. She had a pure heart and didn't believe all the stories about the necromancers. Another "companion" of Astaroth's was a young sorceress about 21 years old. She had been bitten by a very poisonous snake just when she had arrived. Akara had been able to remove most of the poison but could not cure her fully. Slowly day by day, she was getting weaker and weaker. Soon she would die. Akara had tried frequently but could not find a way to save the girl's life. So now, Isabella could only rest in her tent, being in no condition to fight. This had made her very sad and withdrawn. But Astaroth's arrival had changed her outlook on life.

These days he would recount the day's events as she lay down on a rug near the fire. The fact that he was a necromancer did not bother her as she knew he was not evil and he was basically a magic-user like she was. The only difference between them was that they had attended different school's of thought. The young woman was quite enamored by the death-mage and would worry about him.

Astaroth himself had fallen in love with the girl. However he knew that they could never be together. Yet he still brought her flowers and told her stories.

Now he had killed Andariel. He would leave for Kurast and would never see her again. That was probably better, he thought to himself. Getting up, he went to Charsi and sold all his junk. Then he went to where Kashya, Cain and Warriv were standing and told them the news. Warriv instantly went around collecting his horse-drivers and told them to get the caravan ready. Cain told him that he would accompany him and got to get his things ready. He turned around to see that Kashya was left.

"Er, thank you for your help, necromancer," she managed to say after an embarrassing silence.

"I have a name," he said and went to Akara's tent, leaving the flustered Rogue leader behind.

"So you are going now?" Akara asked. Astaroth replied in the affirmative. "But what about Isabella? Are you going to leave her too?" she pressed on.

"I cannot take her with me. It will be too dangerous. Anyway, I know that you will take good care of her." Astaroth said.

"Goodbye then." Akara said.

"Yes, goodbye. Oh and one more thing," Astaroth added, "I was able to collect some of Andariel's poison. It is supposed to be the most powerful poison known to man. Take it," he said handing over the green vial.

"What do I do with it?"

"Send it with your fastest Rogue to the city of Rathma with this letter. They will make a cure from it in a few days and you must have it brought back. Then-"

"Will it cure Isabella??" Akara asked, anxiously.

"Most likely. Anyhow, it is all that can be done for her. If this does not work, then nothing will," leaving Akara to think about his words, he exited the tent and went towards another one.

Taking out a parchment, he left it near the sleeping figure. Isabella was a very beautiful sorceress. Her tanned-brown skin matched her dark brown hair and black eyes. She wore a green robe around her lithe and figure. She could easily wed a rich and powerful lord if she wished but she was here now, suffering for her ideals. Slowly trailing his fingers across her cheeks, Astaroth realized that he would have to stop this. He was becoming too caring and loving. Sure, they never had any physical interaction, but their souls had found each other a long time ago. If this continued on, he would be distracted and then he would not fulfill his destiny. leaving the sleeping sorceress with his letter, he left the tent and went out.

Warriv and the others were waiting for him. Taking one last glance of the place he had called home for the past two weeks, he wished the Rogues luck and then motioned Warriv to start the caravan.

The man at the front snapped at the reins and the horses complied, trotting away from the camp. 

Inside her tent, Isabella awoke with a start and felt the paper clutched in her hand.

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I hope that wasn't too confusing

I have a bad habit of going into flashbacks with one person and ending with another

**Alman**-yes I have sped up things, but this is to make this LONG fic a little shorter.


	3. Remembering Rathma

DISCLAIMER-

Diablo 2 and other related stuff don't belong to me; otherwise the necromancer would be able to control three golems at the same time!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Dark Light**

Chapter 3- _Remembering Rathma (And Arrival In Lut Gholein)_

The horses strained hard at the reins, their large hooves pounding the sandy desert floor. The driver's whip cracked as he steered the black stallions. They were beautiful beasts, these horses. Their dark coats glistened in the hot afternoon sun and their flanks were pure muscle. Out here in the desert, there was no place for sluggards, animal or human.

Already used to the cracking of the whip and the horses' continuous running, Astaroth slept on. He was not used to such temperatures and kept his pale face protected by a shroud. In the wagon ahead of his, Warriv stood acting as a navigator and leader to the rest of the fast-moving caravan. The horses could be ran for a long time because they were prepared for it and because Sand Raiders and Saber Cats usually ambushed slow travelers.

They would also work together, the smaller and more agile Sand Raiders scouting ahead for targets. Once a target had been chosen, they would communicate with the larger and stronger Saber Cats who set up a trap and killed all the humans. Both ended the day together by feasting on the flesh of the fallen men.

Therefore, every wagon of the caravan had at least one person looking out. Everyone traveling also had _some _ battle experience so they could engage any creatures. Two other warriors had been picked up by the caravan on the way. These included the young barbarian Ragnar who claimed that he was the older brother of the warrior whom Astaroth had found in the Dark Tower. He was not a fledgling like his younger sibling. Already having killed three of the powerful beasts such as Treehead Woodfist, a huge hairy creature who was very strong, he was on his way to being a powerful and formidable warrior. He was generally quite friendly as he looked up to the slightly older necromancer, "The Slayer Of The Maid Of Anguish" or plain "Slayer" as he often referred to him. The other warrior was a paladin about the same age as Astaroth.

The zealous paladin that he was, Lucan was quite a pain for Astaroth. He didn't care about others esp. paladins rebuking him for using dark magic as it was expected. But he never had to eat, drink and live with the idiot every day and every night. Lucan constantly berated him, as if Astaroth could change it. It wasn't what he had chosen, it was what he had been born into. Even as a child, all he and other children like him learnt was to become great necromancers. Much like the paladins, mused Astaroth. But he was never _that _irritating and presumptuous. Sure there's a bad apple in every barrel, but why this barrel? Astaroth was patiently waiting for the day when Lucan would overstep the limit, then he would really have some fun. But the paladin was not that stupid. He maintained his distance, constantly gibing him and making indirect remarks about his inhumanity to use human corpses for his own purposes.

Hey, wasn't he one of the good guys now that he had killed Andariel? Guess not. Lucan was just like Kashya, they would not and possibly could not accept the facts and think properly. There were people like them everywhere. Sadly, most seemed indisposed towards necromancers only.

Ignorant fools, I will show you what I can do! Yes he would. He would destroy Baal; he would destroy Mephisto and then the last one, Diablo would fall. MAYBE after that they would accept him. Maybe not because ignorant people could not change. Even after he saved the world, people would still make snide remarks about him, even when he was next to them. And what would he do? He would sit quietly watching them snigger.

Angrily Astaroth made a fist and punched the wagon floor in frustration. The chain around his gloves around his gloves made a *ching* noise. Breathing slowly, he tried to calm down. Remember, he told himself, don't act rashly. That is not the person you are. Thinking of the past, he fell asleep, dreaming of forgotten times.

Learning in the basement of his house and then during the day in the often closed and dimly lit dingy buildings referred to as schools in the great necromancer city of Rathma, he had never been exposed to this type of environment. They did tell you about these things once you left to complete your destiny but not even words could describe the loneliness he felt. Sure, he some "friends" like Ragnar and Warriv but no one loved him. Having been an orphan and then living in a large orphanage, he never knew his parents. All he had left of them was the silver necklace with the gold pendant. The person who ran the orphanage was an honest man who had kept it for safe-keeping for him and had given it to him when he had turned sixteen. Demitri was the closest Astaroth had had that could be compared to a father. Even though Demitri did not know about Astaroth, he tried to keep the boy happy.

Even he too had passed away because of a rogue Blood Golem that had killed about twenty people and ten children including its master when the green student had been practicing with things obviously beyond his expertise. The golem only stopped when Astaroth intervened.

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He had just entered the orphanage when he heard a child screaming for help. Thinking that one of the boys was playing tricks on one another, he decided to play along. Throwing some sand from his pouch, he raised a clay golem. Quietly creeping down the dark unlit corridor (it was night and the moon was not very bright) with his golem following closely, he entered the bedroom. Everything was in a mess: bedspreads had been thrown helter-skelter and beds had been toppled over. Stepping up to investigate, he had started to walk towards the closest bed.

*Slap*Slap*

Quickly stopping at hearing the "slapping" sound emanating from the floor, he deduced that he was stepping on something. Hoping that it was water and not something foul like urine, he bent down and lit a match. The stuff was very red and very dark.

BLOOD! echoed through Astaroth's head. Looking closer he could see that most of the beds had been covered in it. The floor was lathered with blood too. Because of his daily practice with corpses, he had missed the smell of spilt blood but he had not forgotten what it looked like. Bursting into the second room, he was beheld with a horrible spectacle.

This room had been well-lit thanks to the fire in the hearth. Barely recognizing the common room he saw that many corpses had been collected in the center of the room. Each corpse looked like it had been bludgeoned with a blunt tool and their faces were unrecognizable, their limbs horribly contorted. One finger of someone's arm that had somehow been cut off was adorned with a ring that glinted in the light. That was Demitri's ring! Covering his face with his hands, thinking what he would do to the killer he stood as his clay golem stared dumbly at its disheartened master.

*Thunk*Thunk*

Someone was walking down the stairs! He sounded like a quite heavy man so Astaroth prepared his bone shield and took out his sharp dagger to kill the interloper.

As he came closer and closer to the light, Astaroth could see that he _was _quite a heavily-built man and did not seem as if he was carrying any weapons. But then the strange shape of the man's body told him all. It was a blood golem!

It stared at him, its empty eyeholes leering at him from the foot of the stairs. Each step caused a squelching sound of organs being mashed together. From various places on its body, tiny rivulets of blood flowed out. Upon sensing the living presence in the same room, it ran at him at full speed. Jumping to one side Astaroth mentally commanded his golem to attack. The clay monster also charged and began wrestling if not felling blows on the blood monster.

Seeing that the crazed blood golem was gaining the upper hand, Astaroth muttered some words. Lights appeared and the blood golem had been cursed with the Life Tap. This helped the clay golem gain health because its attacks would help it to steal the other golem's life. But it wasn't enough. The blood golem hit its clay counterpart with a punch right at its head and it turned once again into useless grains of sand.

Astaroth imprisoned the golem within a bone prison and it was soon too busy with breaking the barriers of bone. The bones would last for a short while only. Grabbing his bag, he selected a few vials of green liquid and hurled them. They broke upon contact, letting the green liquid ooze all over the golem. Feeling the pain it screamed only to be bombarded by two other vials, these contained acid.

The powerful acid ate up the golem already weakened by the toxic poison. It stood no chance. Seeing the golem melt away Astaroth sighed and let his tired arms down. He knelt trying to comprehend what had happened.

Demitri was dead, killed by a blood golem which acted like it had broken free of its master's control. Well he could still revive all the dead people. Any skilled necromancer could but they would be like zombies, only able to talk with grunts and walk slowly, their bodies having been woken up again but their souls, their very essence having been lost.

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Astaroth woke up with tears in his eyes. Lest anyone should see them, he wiped his eyes roughly and lay back again.

He had been about twenty-two years old then. After Demitri's death, he could never go back to the orphanage. He spent the next two and a half years learning more and more about the dark arts. What teachers could not teach him, he learnt from old scrolls from the light of a burning candle always in the dark basement of the university, only leaving to buy some food and a supply of fresh animal corpses to practice on. When he felt that he had hidden enough, he cut his long hair and beard bought some armor and weapons and set off on a journey to learn more. He had spent half a year traveling on lonely roads face hidden in a hood. He had killed animals, beasts, men and demons. He was able to perfect his magical skills and fighting abilities. He found many magical objects, all useful to him when traveling or for selling. After six months, the rumors about the Dark Wandered and the fate of Tristram started circulating. He planned to set off towards the damned town but it could not be reached as it was too far away and the roads were blocked by mountains and hills. Then one day he heard about the Rogue's Monastery having been overrun by wild beasts. The Rogue's were in need of help and many warriors were gathering to help them. So then he had set off again, never knowing whether he would succeed or not and whether he would be accepted or not as an equal if not superior. And here he was, on the way to Lut Gholein, the desert city. He had killed Andariel and allowed the Rogue's to take back their home. He had left his love, the sick Isabella there and provided a cure which would be ready and would have reached her by now. He had no place back at Rathma because he did not know anyone there, the closest person to him dead. And now he was traveling on a wagon with a paladin who would kill him given the chance and a barbarian who would also do the same if not for his achievements.

Life was strange and unforgiving. Was he the only one who felt like this?

"Up ahead! Look!" Warriv's shout awoke everybody and they all peered out.

Above the sand dunes, they could see the great walls of the desert city, Lut Gholein, its gates open as if waiting to embrace them.

Yup, life was strange alright.

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AN-

I hope I didn't type "brabarian" by mistake; that kept on happening

and is the "Lut Gholein" spelling wrong?

This fic will be usually updated at least every Friday because I have another major fic going on

BTW-this chapter is kinda strange because I wasn't getting confused myself

-Lucan HATES Astaroth


	4. New Allies

AN-

Sorry for not updating earlier. Just had problems of my own.

As always, hope you enjoy (and also please review)!

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DISCLAIMER-

Diablo 2 and other related stuff don't belong to me; otherwise the necromancer would be able to control three golems at the same time!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Dark Light**

Chapter 4- _New Allies (And New Enemies)_

Astaroth wiped the sweat off his grimy face with a cloth from his pocket. The sun was very hot. His metal armor didn't help things very much either. By the time he reached town, he would probably have a dark tan on his face. The fire golem he had summoned was indifferent to the heat. Instead, it seemed to thrive on it. His skeletons were also none too weary being the undead creatures that they were. Once he got to town maybe he could ask Lysander, the deaf chemist, for a potion to keep his skin from being burned. At this rate, blisters would be growing everywhere on his body and he didn't relish _that_ prospect.

Astaroth straightened his back and let some of the cold water from his goatskin bag fall on his hot face. Pushing his hair back, he surveyed the area around him as his minions stood behind him. There, up there, that building jutting out of the sand. That should be the Halls Of The Dead that Deckard Cain had spoken of. In there he had said, Astaroth would most likely find the magical_ Horadric Cube_. The "Cube" had many magical properties. For one, it was virtually indestructible, not that many beings had tried to destroy it because of its transmuting power. This was its second property: the ability to transmute objects together. This process was a very strange if not usually rewarding one. Even the great mages of the Horadrim to whom the Cube was given by the Gods, could not figure out how it worked. They just knew that it allowed them to "mutate" objects placed inside it and produced a final single object. This was usually quite rewarding as strong weapons could be placed with magical items to form magical weapons. Another advantage of the Cube's transmuting power was that gems of the same type could be transmuted to form gems of a much higher degree of worth.

Ah, that kind of object would come in handy. But he reminded himself, it was not a sure process and the final product could be far from desirable. Anyhow, he _would _have to see this to believe it, but right now he had to first find the Horadric Cube. And then he would be one step closer to forming the Horadric Staff, having already found the shaft.

The Horadric Staff, as Cain had said, "would be essential in finding the tomb of Tal-Rasha, in whose body the demon Baal was imprisoned in." Without it, Astaroth would face difficulties and it would be impossible to find the correct tomb as there were seven tombs hidden somewhere out in the desert.

Astaroth shrugged off his backpack and checked its contents. It contained one large golden shield, three throwing knives, and axe and six vials of oil potion. He didn't want to carry _all _of that into a place where he would have to fight, most likely undead skeletons and ancient mummies. What else would he find in a place called the Halls Of The Dead? Grimacing at the thought of fighting undead creatures, he opened a portal and stepped through it.

The world seemed to disappear and then suddenly appeared as he stepped out into the town of Lut Gholein. As always, the desert town was bustling with activity. People haggled at markets and traders came and left with their wares. The only thing not moving was a large ship at the docks and a tall man who stared out into the open sea, obviously longing to set sail.

Pitying him, Astaroth held the bag tighter in his hand and stepped into the town. People once too busy, now stared at him in fear, anger and confusion. Unmindful of the looks he was receiving, he trudged on towards the market square where he would find Fara, the female paladin now turned blacksmith and also Deckard Cain, who would identify his belongings. Having sold off his stuff, he would return to the desert via the portal.

"Back so soon?" asked the tall, muscular Fara. The former paladin had bright red hair and wore men's clothing. She was currently bent over a suit of armor, banging away at it with her hammer.

"Yeah, I got some stuff for you," replied the necromancer, putting his heavy bag down.

Picking out various weapons, Fara paused, examining them. She turned back to her customer saying, "I'll buy the whole lot at 2700 gold pieces seeing that you already have your-" she gestured at the large axe in his hand, "magical axe. I don't know about the shield though. Maybe you should have it appraised."

"Alright." Astaroth went over to Deckard Cain who was sitting down in the shade of the low walls, trying to escape the scorching sun.

"Ah, my companion. Have you found the Horadric Cube yet?" he questioned Astaroth.

"No, but I'm pretty much sure I found the Halls Of The Dead. So just give me about an hour or so. Oh and what the heck is this?" he asked displaying the shield.

Examining the arcane marking and symbols etched into the shield's crusty exterior, Deckard Cain thoughtfully pondered. "This is quite a great find I must say. It appears to be a shield that gives the wielder more resistance from the elements. The shield itself is constructed out of some strange metal which is supposed to be, at least according to the symbols, nigh near invulnerable."

Excited by this, Astaroth closely examined the shield himself. It was golden in color and is enough to cover his forearm twice over. At the same time, it was quite light and did not hinder his movements. Deciding to keep it, he thanked the old mage and walked back to Fara.

"Well?"

"I'm keeping the shield. You can have the rest."

"Pleasure doing business with you," joked Fara.

Smiling a little, Astaroth pocketed the gold coins and left towards the direction of the portal, his minions closely following him, though unfazed by the public's obvious reaction. The only person who was friendly was Atma, the woman who ran the Desert Bar.

"How are you doing, my dear friend?"

"I am fine Atma, I hope you are doing well too."

"Would you like to step in for a drink? The sun is hot and you should rest a little."

"Thanks but no thanks Atma, 'sides I think it wouldn't be too good for your business if I came in," Astaroth said gesturing with his chin to the angry faces at the bar's windows. "Anyhow, I must be going now. Thank you."

"Please come in whenever you wish," Atma said to his retreating figure.

Only a day after he had settled in, Astaroth was contacted by Atma. Having killed Andariel, he was quite a celebrity. Amidst tears, she managed to ask for his help in defeating a monster called Radament who lived under the town's sewers. Unable to ignore a helpless woman, Astaroth complied and now Radament The Fallen now truly lay fallen, having been laid to rest by the necromancer and his minions, rotting away in the dark and dank labyrinth that served as the sewers. It wasn't much of a battle though. All the Radament could do was raise its minions or heal existing ones. While his fire golems and revived creatures fought against their counterparts, Astaroth simply revived the fallen monsters, turning Radament's creatures against himself. After that, the battle was one-sided. Wave of skeletons swung their rusty swords and axes while mages cast spells on Radament. Astaroth waited until he was finished and then searched the dimly lit area for gold and other loot. The only worthwhile object was a spell book. It contained several spells. However, it was only about necromancy and thus was not so enlightening. Nevertheless, he did learn the Bone Shield spell. The spell allowed him to control any bones he found and arrange them in such a manner that they swirled around his abdomen forming a crude "shield". Well, _something _was better than nothing.

Lost in his thoughts he didn't notice the paladin standing in his way. He only knew of his presence when he bumped into him. Obviously jealous of the necromancer's progress, Lucan stood facing him, a sneer on his face.

"So now you can't even see where you walking, eh?" came the mocking question.

"Ah, my friend, my sight is so poor nowadays you know. And when being faced with the utter magnificence of such idiots like you, it fails me entirely-"

"Raghh!" Lucan shouted enraged and swung his sword at his foe.

*Clang*

Astaroth blocked with his own axe and brought a fist to Lucan's face, busting his nose and causing a rivulet of red blood to trickle down his ruined face.

"Why you-" Lucan spluttered.

"That will be enough for now young man," the old and enigmatic wizard Drognan proclaimed, getting out of the shadows where he had been presently standing in.

Turning to the necromancer, Lucan gave a last warning glare and then huffed his way back into the crowd nursing his injured nose.

"Yes Drognan?"

"It is about this prophecy of a great solar eclipse. I don't have much information about it now. But when you come back, I think I will have enough things to tell you. That is all. Goodbye and good luck."

"Thanks," replied Astaroth to the wizened mage and started walking towards his open portal.

"Hey! Slayer!" came the excited shout from behind.

Astaroth waited for Ragnar to join him.

"Well what is it?"

"Can I accompany you right now?"

"Are you sure?" asked Astaroth searching the slightly younger barbarian's face for any trace of doubt. People who were not sure of themselves got killed and usually with their companions.

"Yes," Ragnar replied firmly.

Ragnar would be a useful ally. He _ was _quite strong, stronger than Astaroth himself and looked quite skilled with the two large axes clenched in his large fists. But what he made up in brute strength, he lacked in magic. Sure he could frighten monsters away but that was quite useless and even Astaroth could do that with his _Terror _ spell. Nevertheless, an ally would be useful when fighting and/or in town.

Smiling, Astaroth gave his hand to Ragnar and the two shook their hands.

"Then let us go," the necromancer said to his new friend pointing to the portal.

"Yes, let's," grinned Ragnar and the duo walked forward.


End file.
